Ah, Hell
by metameric1
Summary: Trent sees the light and gets off his lazy butt. What does Daria make of this? This is a new story arc, but with original characters poached from my other fics.
1. Chapter 1

_****__****__Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV/Viacom, or whomever has acquired the intellectual property rights. This is fan fiction written for fun and entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged._

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_**A Leap of Faith**_

"Okay, kid," sighed St. Peter, "I'd have dropped your sorry butt downstairs, but it seems like your situation is a little more complicated than usual." He rummaged under the podium and came up with a bent wire hanger, upon which hung a pair of luminous white ratty jeans and an equally white, bleached-out Nirvana T-shirt. He handed them to Trent, and indicated a changing room that had materialized to the side.

_What the H- bad word choice, I guess- heck happened?_

He stepped out of the changing room, noting that his ratty sneakers had somehow turned white as well. _What's with all this fuzzy white carpeting?_

St. Peter handed him a glowing white harp. "Go on in, kid. Welcome to Heaven."

Trent stared at the peculiar instrument dolefully, wondering how far he could push his luck. _Heaven?_

"Ah, Hell," grumbled St. Peter. "Can't blame me for trying." With that, he tossed the harp back under the podium and pulled out a glowing white Strat.

"Cool," smiled Trent. He took the guitar, and waited expectantly.

"Ah, Hell," repeated St. Peter, reluctantly pulling out a glowing white Marshall Bluesbreaker combo amp.

"Hey."

Trent whipped around, startled. "Daria?" Yep, it was her, all right, only in a pair of white jeans and T-shirt. And a V-neck, no less. She was carrying a glowing white laptop computer.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, Trent, we're dead, and this is Heaven. Although," she smirked, "St. Peter was backordered on the new Mac Air, so I have to make do with this… _Windows_… machine until my real computer arrives."

"Good one, Daria," he smiled. _God-oops- he loved her sense of humor_. He looked at her appreciatively. _I always knew she was pretty, but da- gosh darn, she's beautiful. _He frowned. _Gosh darn? What the f- heck?_

A knowing half-smile appeared on her lips. "You can't really swear here, especially the really colorful way." She tilted her head slightly. "Makes writing a little more challenging, since the spell checker on this stupid computer automatically rewrites certain choice expletives."

She set her computer down, a glowing white desk materializing instantly underneath it. She stepped up to him, and with a tiny smile, put her arms around him and gave him a little hug. "They make it up with other perks. You can do certain stuff that you never had the nerve to do when you were alive."

Trent put his arms around her, enjoying her inexplicably familiar scent. She smelled just like he always imagined she would, clean, sweet, and oddly pure.

She was breathing him in too, that modest smile still playing on her face.

"Daria?" he said quietly after a while. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep at the wheel, you narcoleptic moron," came a familiar voice behind him.

He let go of Daria and whipped around. "Janey?"

"Yup, bro. Now say it."

"I am so sorry, Janey."

"Apology accepted, although it's not like I actually have a choice." She grinned at him and mussed his hair. "Wanna grab some pizza?"

"They have pizza here?"

"Yeah, but no beer," smirked Jane.

"She's kidding, Trent.," Daria said quietly, taking his hand and pulling him along.

He turned and looked at Janey. She was grinning, like he kinda expected.

"Yeah, the Polka players are really happy to find that out," she laughed.

They passed through some not-really-there doors into the warmth and aroma of a pizza joint. The girls sat, chairs appearing under them. Trent followed suit, and was pleased to find his bottom on a similar comfortable seat.

"The way things work here is that whatever it is that you truly value manifests itself. So, while we seem to be sharing a common reality, in truth we could each be experiencing this moment in completely different ways." Daria picked up a soda and took a sip.

"So you and Janey are the way you are only to me?"

Daria and Jane looked at each other. "Perhaps," the smaller woman said slowly. "Perhaps it doesn't really matter; we're real to each other."

"St. Peter told me that I'm kind of a special case. He said that if it were up to him I'd be on my way downstairs."

Daria sat back in her seat, which had grown an ergonomic backrest. Jane shot Daria a huge smile.

"Sounds like this is _your_ show, Amiga."

Trent's signature half-smile grew. "So this is your version of Heaven."

Daria thought about that for a long moment, and then slowly reached down, meaning to unlace her white boots. They had turned into comfy slippers. Smirking, she wiggled them off with her toes. A bottle of massage oil appeared on the table in front of Trent. "Looks like it."

Trent reached for the bottle, finding himself in a white void. Daria lay on her side, as though on an invisible chaise; he was sitting with her bare feet in his lap.

"I think I'm going to find something to art, you guys," Jane's voice floated into Trent's ears. "Don't do anything to get us in trouble, okay?"

_So I'm here to fulfill Daria's idea of heaven?_ Trent smiled as he poured the oil into his palm. _I can live with this._

"OW!"

"You fucking moron," hissed a voice in his ears. It was barely audible over the ringing from the hard slap upside the head. "What the hell kind of driving was that?"

"Huh?"

"You almost got us _killed,_ you dope," yelled Jane. "Move over and lemme drive!" She looked over as she climbed out of the back seat. "You okay, Amiga?"

Trent looked in the rear view mirror at Daria's frozen expression. Her eyebrows were arched, and her eyes wide open. She had lost her glasses somehow. _Ah, shit._ He opened the door and stepped out as Jane slid into the driver's seat.

He looked around on the floor before getting in, hoping to find Daria's glasses. Nothing. He got on his knees, and felt around under the seat, reaching as far as he could. His fingers closed around them when he realized that his cheek was resting against her leg.

_Great. Just fucking great. She's really going to hate me now. _He handed her glasses to her, swallowing as she whispered a quiet thanks without looking at him.

He paused, and then closed the door carefully, backing away from the car. Jane rolled down the window, flipping him off as she drove away.

_Crap, I almost killed the two people that mean the most to me. I am such a total screwup._ He slowly sat down on the curb. _Dozing off while driving._ _It's never been that bad before; I really need to get this sleeping thing checked out._

He heard the screech of brakes in the distance, and a car door opening and then closing again.

He heard the sound of boots on the roadway. The steps were clipped and determined. He felt her sit on the curb next to him.

"Trent, are you okay?"

The voice was quiet, calm and honestly concerned.

"No, Daria, I'm not. I could have killed you both."

They both sat quietly. Jane stayed with the car, the engine idling, watching the two of them in the rear view mirror.

He looked at her, sitting to his right; her breathing was slow and deep, and he had the feeling that it was something that she was willing herself to do. Who could blame her? What the hell was he thinking anyway, letting these two women ride along with an incompetent like himself?

She looked different these days; her freshman year at Raft had matured her. She and Janey had come back to Lawndale for a visit, Daria because her sister Quinn was graduating from high school. A few weeks here, and then they would be returning to Boston to spend their summer working in order to keep the cottage they were renting together and to raise a little more money for school. Perhaps the jeans she wore tonight were the very same ones she wore not long after he had met her, that time they all tried to get to a rock concert. She hadn't gotten much taller, if at all, but she definitely had matured in her look. He'd always thought of her as a pretty girl, in spite of her trying to hide it.

And really, he had always appreciated her for her cutting wit, intellect, and dry humor. She was the coolest woman he knew, someone he greatly respected for her principles and values. Of anyone, she, perhaps even more than Janey, understood him in ways that were a mystery to him. At one time, she had had an inexplicable crush on him, but he knew that she had grown past that and had moved on.

Still, she was sitting there on the curb next to him, worried about him.

"Go on ahead, Daria, I think I'll walk home. I need the air, and it's not really that far."

She sat there, polishing her glasses with her T shirt, looking at him under the streetlights. God, she had pretty eyes.

He pushed that line of thought away. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, way too good for the likes of him. She studied him for a long moment, and then, putting her glasses back on, she stood and walked back to Jane, waiting in his car. She spoke briefly to her, and then turned and walked back as the car pulled away.

"Let's go, Trent." She stood over him, holding out her hand.

She pulled him to his feet, and the two of them walked slowly towards the Lane house, talking. He, profoundly disappointed in himself, and she, worried about him. From time to time they would stop, facing each other, one or the other gesturing to make a point. Always, they would eventually stop, and then begin walking again. To a casual observer looking out of a window, they were a couple trying to work something out, trying to see if they had some kind of future together.

By the time the two of them came around the corner of Howard Drive, they weren't talking, but as they walked, sleeves and occasionally hands would brush against the other.

Jane was still sitting in the car, waiting for them. She had cooled off. Seeing the two of them in the rear view mirror, she smiled and then climbed out of the car.

Leaning against the door, she watched as her brother and best friend slowly approached, again speaking quietly. Daria was shaking her head slowly, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

_What the hell were they talking about? And Trent seems to have calmed down._

Seeing Jane waiting for them, Daria stopped, causing Trent to turn towards her. She looked into his eyes for a long time.

"You know, I don't quite know what to make of what you've been telling me. I want to say that it's really your twisted view of reality, but in truth…I can't exactly do that."

Trent frowned. "Wait, what?" He studied the young woman's poker face; a young lifetime of practice betrayed nothing. "Look, Daria…" he began, sliding his hands into his pockets, slouching slightly to maintain eye contact with the shorter woman. "I don't really want to freak you out or anything, but seeing as how no matter how I imagine this story going, I can't see a scenario where you don't wind up walking away from this sorry excuse for a life. Your future is out there, and for the time being I'm still here. So, I'm just going to tell you this now."

_Jane was getting impatient, but something was happening between Daria and Trent, and it was for the time being apparently none of her business._

"Daria, I've been kind of hung up on you for a long time now."

She took off her glasses and stepped forward, close enough to look into his eyes without her corrective lenses. Nothing between their eyes to cloud the view into each other's soul. "What," she said quietly, "exactly, do you mean by that?"

He hesitated for just the blink of an eye.

"I love you."

"I see." She looked back, unblinking. "This complicates things."

Without another word, she reached out and took his hand, and resumed walking towards Jane, who stood leaning against the car, mouth open.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Pulling at a Thread**_

"Trent, go to bed. I need to think."

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to his bedroom door. Daria stood an arm's length away from him, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jeans, her deep brown eyes focused on his chest. _Had she always been this beautiful?_ The thick auburn mane had been trimmed short, still framing her oval face and her small, full mouth.

The owl-eye glasses he remembered had been replaced by smaller frames, a concession to the weight of the thick lenses her prescription required. They revealed much more of her face, and he noticed that her eyelashes were still as lush as he remembered, all those times when he would carefully take her glasses off to place them safely on the coffee table when she had fallen asleep reading. In those rare moments, he would allow himself to look at her.

She was never what he would have called a happy girl; perhaps 'somewhat disappointed' would have suited her a year ago. Now, though, there was more weariness there, beyond just the stresses of the evening; and perhaps a touch of sadness. It was complicated, whatever the significant events that he sensed she had experienced in the year past. Things with Daria were never simple. She was a rich, complex creature, and she seemed to project that upon the world around her. Somehow, she bent the space around her, and it was something subtle, just on the threshold of perception, that he had always noticed about her.

Those eyes flicked up to his own, and the corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly up. "Go to sleep," she repeated. "I know you can do it."

He gave her a half-smile, but it was just a bit too long in coming. He wanted, more than anything, to reach out and pull her into a simple embrace, and maybe even a little kiss; nothing aggressive, just so he could retreat knowing that he hadn't freaked her out. He knew, though, that it would not be interpreted that way.

She hesitated, not knowing quite what to do.

She opted to turn and step away, pausing a few feet down the hall. "Hell. We'll talk tomorrow. I guess I'm really in no condition to think clearly." Still, she stood there, resolve failing.

"Damnit," she muttered, walking back to him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped forward and put his arms around her. She stiffened, and then responded in kind.

But she didn't kiss him, although it wasn't because she didn't want to.

* * *

"So you aren't going to tell your best friend what the hell just happened?" Jane smirked, her usual insufferable self again. "You suck, Morgendorffer."

"I don't_ know_ what happened. I'm still trying to sort it all out. It's two in the morning, after all."

"I thought you were over that crush,' Jane said quietly.

"I am. It's not the same thing. Different somehow, and I can't put my finger on it. He actually just came out and told me that he's had a…thing for me, and that he…"

_Loves me. What does that mean, really? _

_What?_

_And why does that make me sad? Not unhappy, exactly, but sad?_

"You need to sleep on it, Daria."

"Yeah, I know," she yawned. "You know, it's a lot more comfortable in Penny's bed, but I kinda miss being on your floor in that old sleeping bag."

"It's still in the corner," Jane smirked, "but you know how cranky sleeping on the floor made you."

"It was nice back then," Daria mused. "I liked the smell of the paint."

"Now you can't get away from it in our cottage."

"I still like the smell." Daria looked around the old house. "This place hasn't changed much."

Jane looked down the hall at Trent's bedroom door. "Is that a good thing?"

Daria knew what she was getting at. "I guess not."

"You know it won't work, not the way he is," Jane said quietly, before retreating into her room.

Daria did not look at Trent's bedroom door as she walked down the hall.

She changed for bed, and put her glasses down on Penny's nightstand.

She shivered as she slipped into bed. The sheets were cold, and didn't smell anything like him.

* * *

The bacon sizzled as it hit the pan. He watched ruefully as the grease flew, spattering across the stovetop he had just cleaned half an hour ago. Oh well, he would just have to clean it again sometime.

He pulled down a plate, laying a paper towel down on it so that it would absorb the excess grease. There was a chip on the edge; his mother had made all the plates, bowls and cups in the house.

He reached out, running his finger over the rough spot. Everything in the house was like this to him, beautiful, but flawed or diminished in some way. He grew up in this place, and it was something that defined him. He was comfortable here; he was familiar with everything about the place, every little and some not so little things that needed to be fixed.

This was the family home, but in a way it was also his prison. Somehow or other he had become its caretaker. He poured himself a cup of coffee, shutting off the stove and transferring the bacon to the plate. He laid another paper towel on top, watching as the oil and hot grease spotted and then wicked into the paper.

It had fallen to him to take care of Janey, the day he had turned eighteen. He had graduated from high school, and didn't have any plans for his immediate future, so it became his job to hold down the fort while his parents began taking on more projects and work on the road. It paid better, and they would transfer money into an account that he was to use to keep the payments up. At least, that was the plan, although the machinations of long distance banking sometimes screwed things up.

But he and Janey had always gotten by.

Now Janey had moved on with her life, to Boston Fine Arts College; sharing a little two bedroom cottage with her best friend Daria.

He had made a few changes since then; the basement, for one thing, was cleared out and had been turned into his teaching studio, ever since Mystik Spiral had broken up. Or down. Once Janey was gone, it began to feel pointless, if it ever had one. It became pretty clear that he had just been treading water, marking time; when it finally came to an end, none of the members were surprised. They too had moved on. Jesse got a job at a home improvement store, Nick wound up at a restaurant. Trent wasn't sure what happened to Max, who had moved out west somewhere.

Jamie at Dega Street Music had hired him on part time; Trent was good with people, and Jamie was glad to have him. He began teaching guitar to teenagers at home. The money was pretty good, and he would send Janey most of it for her school expenses.

Going to the Zon last night was kind of weird. The girls wanted to visit the place, since they kind of thought of it as part of their Lawndale universe. Without the Spiral, though, it wasn't the same. They had always gone to Trent's gigs; he wasn't sure if they were regulars because they kind of liked the music or if it was just out of obligation, or maybe just something to do. There were a few songs that he knew they actually liked. Whatever it was, they had been faithful followers until they had left for school.

With them gone, there was no point at all for Trent. Mystik had played another two months, and then disbanded, an event that went pretty much unnoticed.

There was a box of pancake mix around here somewhere. Daria and Janey had gone shopping before they showed up, sure that there wasn't any food in the place. Hey, he was planning to stock up, but lately, he seemed not terribly interested in buying anything that would have been out of place in one of those fallout shelters from the cold war. Stuff in cans was good enough, although he was aware of the need to prevent the onset of scurvy.

He pulled out the cartons of eggs and milk, and followed the directions on the side of the box.

"Hey," Daria murmured from the doorway. "You're up early."

He slid the mixing bowl aside and reached into a cupboard, pulling down two more coffee cups. He poured her cup, leaving room for the milk he knew she favored. Handing it to her, he sat a small warming carafe of milk, a saucer and a spoon on the table.

"Morning, Daria." He warmed up his own cup and joined her at the table. "If you like, I can fix you pancakes now."

"We should wait for Jane. She's going to be up soon."

"Daria, I'm really sorry for last night."

She stirred her coffee quietly, and then placed the spoon carefully on the saucer. "Don't be."

Trent thought this over, and then took a sip of coffee. "Look, I know I was out of line. It's just that I realized that we don't have forever to work things out, and I just had to let you know. I'm not expecting anything from you. You've got your own life and I know I don't fit into it anymore. So can we just move on?"

"Move on?"

"You know, not like pretend nothing happened, or that I didn't say anything. I did, and I meant it. It's just that you don't have to do anything but what you want, whatever that is. I'm not making a claim or anything, I just said what I had to."

"Thank you for being honest. I won't be less than that to you, and the truth is I don't know how I feel about this. I do love you in some ways, but weather or not it's the same as how you feel about me, I don't think so. You're really important to me. You always have been."

She brought the coffee cup to her lips. As she tipped it back, he noticed the letter T scribed into its bottom, and smiled as he watched her lips on its rim. His mother Amanda had made cups for her children, looking at their hands as they grew. The cup that Daria held was made for him when he was about twelve.

"At first it was because you're Jane's cute and sexy brother that I had a crush on for years, and then it was because I learned that whatever our differences are, you're a pretty special guy. Yeah, you're a really close friend, but it's not just that. I can tell you anything and I know you won't ever use it against me. I know I can trust you, and that's not something that comes easily to me."

She took another sip of coffee, pushing away the morning fuzzies.

"You know, I _am_ seeing other guys now, I'd even go so far as to call it dating, but so far there's nobody that I can trust more than you or Jane. And you know, that's really strange, because I actually slept with someone that I trusted less than you."

She stopped, wondering if she had said too much, if she had unintentionally hurt him. She looked at him, resigned; shaking her head almost imperceptibly. It was too late to take back now.

"If you're worried about how I'm feeling, don't, Daria." He said this calmly, without rebuke or resentment. "I don't own you. And truthfully, I hope it was a positive for you."

She looked sad even as she took his hand. "Thank you, Trent."

"Are you still happy with him?"

"I'm not seeing him anymore. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time it hurt like hell, and then later it was just pleasurable. But after awhile, I realized that I didn't…want to do that anymore. He was a new experience, but I wasn't in love with him. It began to feel like a lie."

"I always knew you were a romantic under that cynical exterior."

"I guess you're right. Don't take this the wrong way, but I always thought my first time would have been with you."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out that way."

"Stop apologizing. Jane, you can come in now, I know you're out there."

A black bobbed head appeared in the doorway. "Sorry, but I smelled bacon."

Daria looked over at Trent, who was smiling and shaking his head. He had gotten up to start the pancakes. "Are you going to be home tonight? I want to keep talking, but I need to get over to my folk's place and show up."

"Name the time, I'll be here." He smiled serenely.

It was then that Daria noticed the _wristwatch_ he was wearing, hidden under what she guessed was a hemp fiber wristband. "Ten thirty, thereabouts."

"You may as well stay over, then," Jane said around a mouthful of pancake.

"Guess so," Daria said, still staring at the thing on Trent's wrist.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**The Things We Do**_

"Hey, Daria, you're looking great," smiled Quinn, pulling her big sister into a hug. She stepped out the front door, walked over to the old Honda hatchback and looked inside. "Where's your stuff?"

"Jane and I got here last night, and I kinda crashed over at her house. I'll get it later. I didn't want to leave my bags in the car overnight, and I was too lazy to pack it up this morning."

"Maybe just as well, sis. Your old room's kind of a mess." They walked back into the house. "Mom's trying to clear some space in the guest room. They moved your books and other things in there but the remodel is taking longer than she expected."

"Too bad. I kinda didn't want to see it all torn up," Daria sighed.

"Yeah, well, you know Mom wanted to redo that room before we moved in, but you liked it the way it was."

"It's not my house anyway," Daria said as casually as she could manage. She decided to change the subject. "Are you ready for your graduation?"

Quinn brightened. "Sure. Glad to be done with that crappy place. Come Wednesday, I get on with my life."

"I thought you liked it there. After all, you were part of the social elite."

"After you moved out, I began to see what a total moron I had been. I did better this year, thanks to you, but I'm going to Lawndale Community College this summer to bring up my GPA. With luck I'll be able to get into State this fall."

"You'll do fine, Quinn. Use the time to figure out what you want to major in and then transfer into a better school."

Quinn was silent for a long time.

"Daria," she said quietly, "I'm really sorry for being such a shit to you. I know you think I even forgot your birthday, but I didn't. I made something for you, but it turned out to be harder to pull off than I thought." Quinn got up, motioning Daria to follow. There was a long wrapped box waiting on the coffee table. "Open it. Sorry, it's not a sniper rifle."

"Aww," Daria smiled. She sat on the sofa, unsure of what to make of this gift from Quinn. Yes, they were trying to rebuild their relationship, and it was Quinn that had made the first move over the summer after Daria's graduation from High School. She had bought her older sister a green cashmere sweater with money she earned at her summer job at Cashman's; she had taken great pains to match the hue and saturation of the jacket that had been Daria's armor. It had become her favorite article of clothing.

She had taken it to heart, and reciprocated by encouraging and helping Quinn through her senior year, coaching her and suggesting changes to papers and essays.

But this was something that Quinn had _made _for her. Curious, she moved to tear the wrapping, but realized that she had wrapped the top and bottom of the box separately so it could be opened gracefully. She lifted the top carefully, and found herself staring at what lay inside.

_You're not a sentimental person, Morgendorffer. The past is what it was, and we have only the present and future to deal with._

Still, she felt herself tearing up when she began to understand what her sister had done. "Quinn, this is beautiful. Thank you."

She picked up the long picture frame carefully. There were spaces for several photos, and Quinn had included one. Daria ran her fingertip over the peculiar cotton canvas border; it had been made from a section of the padding that had covered the walls of her beloved room. The padding was mounted neatly onto a wood backing, and the long edged glass panel that was to hold photos was mounted in front of the fabric.

"Glad you like it," grinned Quinn. "That stuff is really tough. I gave up trying to sew it and had to glue it down to a board."

"How on earth did you get this photo?" Daria smiled as she examined it closely. It was taken in the Zon, apparently from the bar. She and Jane were seated at their usual table, making snide comments about the band. It was taken with a digital camera that had good low light sensitivity, and the Spiral was in fine form in the background. Trent's tall, wiry form was wailing into a microphone, Jesse was mangling some random riff, Nick and Max were giving each other dirty looks. It was perfect, even if the composition was a little strange.

"I tracked down Trent Lane and he got me this picture from Nancy, the bartender. Apparently she likes to document the wildlife."

* * *

As it turned out, Helen was glad to have the issue of where to put her eldest daughter postponed. The remodel of Daria's old room had been a bigger problem than expected; the previous owner had apparently done the work without permits and had figured things out on the fly. The entire room had to be gutted down to the studs, and the welded steel frame that originally held the window bars couldn't be removed without damage that required the replacement of the entire window casement.

The first two contractors had quit due to Helen's threats and hounding; the current contractor was moving at a more leisurely pace since Jake had taken over.

"I'm sorry, Honey," Helen sighed over lunch. "Are you sure you're okay with staying over at Jane's?

"No problem, Mom," Daria said magnanimously. "Things will be crazy enough around here with Quinn graduating. I'll be glad to help out with Quinn's party, though." _I'm getting old. I actually mean that; it means a lot to Quinn._

* * *

"So what's up with you and Trent?" Quinn asked casually, picking at a spot on her nail.

Daria almost ran a red light. "What are you talking about?" She looked over at her sister, studying her demeanor carefully.

"He was really happy to help when I needed to find a good picture of you and Jane," Quinn explained. "I just got the impression that he's really into you. I remember that you used to have quite a crush on the guy."

Daria decided that Quinn was honestly curious. "Nothing's going on. I got over him a long time ago; I'm in Boston, he's still here."

A horn honked behind them.

"Light's green," Quinn smiled. "He was polite and all to me, but I know he was kind of suspicious at first. He remembered that I was a real jerk to you." Quinn said simply, scanning the list of last-minute party items they needed. "Once he found out what I was doing, he opened up. He's pretty protective of you, you know."

"He always was. I was his sister's best friend. Can we drop this subject?" Daria pulled into the mall parking lot.

"God, Daria," Quinn said with a smile.

* * *

They were back earlier than Daria had expected. To her surprise, Quinn's party was apparently going to be a casual affair.

"Just a high school graduation," Quinn laughed. "Not like I'm getting married or anything."

"What's that on your wrist?" Daria asked, noticing the strange looking bracelet for the first time.

"Low E string, flatwound, I think," smiled Quinn. "I met this guy Paul when I went looking for Trent. He works at Dega Street Music too."

"You're dating a bass player?"

"Well, yeah, kind of. He plays Jazz, really, but he's going to get a little band together for the party and play some mainstream teen crap covers for me. His sister Erica's a drummer, and her girlfriend plays keys or something. You'll like her, she's really funny." Quinn grabbed a number of bags out of the car and made for the front door.

* * *

"Hey, Trent," Daria knocked on the basement stair rail.

"Just finished with my last student. I'll be right up after I straighten up here."

Daria looked around at the formerly grubby Mystik Spiral lair. "What the hell happened here?"

The walls and ceiling had been painted white, and there was a new, dark gray industrial carpet on the floor. The old couch was still there, but it was covered by a clean canvas painter's dropcloth. Three black cloth mover's furniture pads hung from pipes that were suspended from the ceiling, to help damp down the room acoustics.

Tracklights had been installed in front of a wall, and two acoustic, a bass and an electric guitar hung, next to fingerboard and chord charts. In the corner sat two drum kits. Several of Jane's paintings had been carefully hung, illuminated with lights clamped onto overhead pipes.

"Trent, this looks great," Daria said, honestly impressed.

"Guess it does, compared to what you must remember," Trent smiled. "I pressure washed everything, opened the windows and let it dry out for a week. Then I rented a commercial power painting rig, and it was like night and day.

"The carpet was a cancelled order, so I got it really cheap. I hung the tracklights, the whiteboard and added the salvaged kitchen cabinet and sink, and partitioned off the washer and dryer. Looks like a real teaching studio, doesn't it?"

"You did all this?"

"Jesse helped, but yeah, pretty much. One of the guys from Dega Street Music is starting to teach bass here too, and his sister teaches drums. I get a little cut for each student."

"That wouldn't be Paul and his sister Erica, would it?"

"Yeah. You've been talking to Quinn, I guess. She and Paul are getting to be a thing."

Daria explored the strange new space; it was disorienting_. _There was even a little refrigerator, an electric hot water kettle and a coffee machine. Trent had created a serious working environment out of the former Neanderthal's cave.

"Help yourself to anything," he smiled. "Sodas and water are in the fridge. No beer, though, sometimes parents drop in and that wouldn't be cool."

"You know, this is a pretty impressive setup for a guy that's supposed to be a total slacker," she half-smiled.

Trent laughed. "I suppose so, but it's for making money to help pay for Janey's school, so the motivation's there."

"That," smiled Daria, "is really cool of you. How many students do you have, anyway?"

"Well, twelve regular students, but I'm thinking that we could get more through if we grouped students, so they get to learn and jam a little at the same time. It should make it easier to get into the music, and making a commitment to a learning partner should really get the kids on the dime. We need to be careful though, this is a residential area after all. I talked to the neighbors and explained why I was doing this, and they're cool with it. That's why I made sure to soundproof this place, and don't allow the kids to hang out here and raise hell." Trent smiled. "Actually, the neighbors think that it's an improvement over the old Spiral days."

"Trent, that's brilliant," she said, settling down onto the sofa. "Hey, this doesn't stink any more."

Trent laughed, sitting down next to her. "I got Paul to help me move it out of the basement. I wanted to haul it to the dump but then it turned out that there were a couple of old fuzzy burritos underneath it. So we put it out in the back yard, flipped it over and sprayed it with a little bleach. We aired it out for a week and most of the smell went away. By the time we were done the upholstery looked a little weird, so I covered it with this dropcloth."

"Shabby chic. Suits the creative feel of the place. "

"That feeling's mostly because of Janey's paintings. I like to sit here and work on my own music. I look up from time to time and I see her work, and it reminds me of what's really important."

"I'm glad you're still writing music," Daria smiled.

"My PMS phase."

Daria had to laugh. "_Post Mystik Spiral?"_

"You're a sharp one", smiled Trent_. _"I look at these paintings, and it makes me wonder if I have a fraction of the talent Janey has. It makes me try harder."

"Post Grunge?"

"And about time, right?" The musician stretched like a cat, lithe and languorous. "Solo acoustic; you know, singer-songwriter stuff."

Daria swallowed. He wasn't _trying_ to be sexy, he just had a natural grace to his movements. It was something that used to make her feel kind of awkward and uncoordinated around him.

_It was as though he created and altered lines of force in the air around him, and simply relaxed into them, letting his body find its natural place. His movements reminded her of the flow of the Tai Chi practitioners that she would watch sometimes, tucked away in leafy alcoves on the Raft campus. That was his state of being, upon which he would superimpose the required mechanics of day to day living._

_If you didn't know him, you would think that he was detached, even oblivious. It was an understandable mistake, but it definitely wasn't who he was._

_In a fundamental way, Trent had always been a creature in flux. He was never one to be reactive to the stimulus of the world; he maintained the separation of the observer. That was something she found fascinating about him._

_And who was this guy that Trent Lane seemed to be turning into?_

She wondered how she could maintain a geosynchronous orbit instead of yielding to gravitational attraction, to be immolated like a meteor.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Slow Motion Trainwreck**_

_Hell. She's still up? It's two in the morning. _

Jane yawned as she made her way to the bathroom. There was a light on in Penney's room; Daria was reading.

_ She's not sleeping much. God, I hope this doesn't all blow up. I haven't seen her this unsettled since she finally bailed on that thing she had going with-Steven? Was that his name? _

_At least she was starting to get more comfortable with her emotional side, and her own sexuality._

_ And stupid Trent._

_ What does he think he's doing? I know he's always liked her, but he and Daria? I know I used to kind of try to push them together; it was fun watching her squirm. But that was stupid of me. She had to grow into this sort of thing; I never really thought that she would get hurt or anything, but oh yeah, she can. It would have been horrible if she and Trent had gotten together back then. It would have blown up, and it would have been my damn fault, hurting the two people I care the most about._

_ I love them both dearly, but could they work? _

_ It was good to have that distance between them after she left for Raft. They were close friends, and that was good. She needed to grow, and he needed to grow the hell up._

* * *

The sunlight wouldn't go away.

She cracked one eye open. 10:45?

Hell. Maybe she shouldn't have turned off the alarm clock with a hammer, but it was so satisfying.

She slowly sat up. The covers were in a tangle against the wall where she had kicked them off; it was early summer and the nights were beginning to warm. She put her feet gingerly on the ground, mindful of the nails and scraps of wood littering her floor. Confirming that the Cornell box she was making was not going to be stepped on again, she dug some clean clothes out and headed for the shower, nearly colliding with a very pissed off Daria.

"Going to the library," she snapped. "I thought you were going to return this for me." She held up a dog-eared book angrily. "It was due _last fall."_

She stomped down the hall, headed for her car.

_What the fuck? I thought I returned it! _

Sighing, she hoped she had enough cash to pay Daria back for the fines, or maybe even the cost of the book.

* * *

_Goddam irresponsible artists and stupid musicians. I should have known this would happen. _

The parking lot was surprisingly full, and she had to park out on the street, making her even madder. There was a Friends of the Library book sale going on, and she would check it out after dealing with the long overdue book. _If I have any money left._

She was deeply upset and offended. Daria took her library privileges seriously, and remembered how she would often wait impatiently for a book to be returned so she could check it out. What made it worse was that it wasn't even a book for herself; she had borrowed it for Trent when she stumbled across it as she browsed the music shelves.

"Daria! I haven't seen you in ages!"

The familiar whispered voice made her smile. "Hello, Ms. Powers." She blushed as she slid the wayward book across the counter. "I've been away at college, and this was supposed to be returned for me. It's really overdue." She bit her lip as the librarian gave her a mock reproving glance and scanned the barcode.

"You're a good girl, Daria, in the four years I've known you this would be the first time." She frowned a bit as she studied the screen in front of her. "Arnold Schoenberg; _Fundamentals of Musical Composition…?" _She hit the scroll key. "The system shows that you borrowed it last year, and it was returned on time. It's since been checked out several times by another patron." Ms. Powers slid the book back to her with a smile. "It's due back next week. Since you brought this back, I assume it's someone you know?"

Daria was momentarily speechless.

"Trent Lane has a library card?"

Ms. Powers smiled. "I remember him. I issued the card to him; he had come back to borrow this book again. Said that "the coolest chick" had borrowed it for him and he wanted to read it again." She gave Daria a wink and motioned for the next patron in line. "Come visit again, Daria," she grinned. "Bring your friend. He's pretty cute."

_Shit, shit, shit. Well, at least she would have money for a make-up pizza._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**Wait, What?**_

_Order from chaos. _

Daria moved quickly, gathering up the detritus, dumping half-empty cups and cans into a plastic pail, lugging trash bags out to the garage. Cutting through the kitchen, she brushed quietly past Trent. He glanced after her, and turned his attention back to the stack of plates and platters he was rinsing off and handing to Helen.

"Thank you for helping with the cleanup, Trent," she smiled, "I appreciate it. You've already done a lot."

"It's cool, Mrs. M, you all must be tired."

She closed up the dishwasher and started it up. "You and your friends sounded great tonight. Paul seems like a nice young man."

Daria sat on the couch, still awake despite being really tired. She hadn't been sleeping well since arriving back in Lawndale, finding herself camped out in a bedroom down the hall from _him_. What was supposed to have been a break before returning to a summer of wage slavery had gotten confusing in a hurry.

And today had ended on an odd note, yet another in a steady progression of disconnects.

Quinn's graduation was pretty much what she had expected, her popular sister weaving through crowds of people, hugs and best wishes all around. That part Daria got. The party afterwards, though, was odd. Many but not all of the old crowd that used to hang around Quinn turned up, including what had seemed like an obligatory visit from Sandi and Tiffany. Stacy seemed to actually enjoy being here, and stuck around long after the rest of the former Fashion Club had disappeared.

Some of the kids that had turned up Daria could actually _talk_ to.

"Our work is done here, Amiga," Jane yawned, dropping onto the couch next to her. "I think your mom said something about carpet cleaners coming by tomorrow."

Daria nodded. The door of the guest room was closed, full of things that had been stored away to make room for the party. It would have been good to spend a night away from the Lane house, so she could begin to catch up on her sleep. Now _that_ was strange, wanting to sleep in her parent's home instead of at Jane's. Quinn would be back home soon, having stepped out to show up at a few more parties before her life began a new period. Didn't matter; her sister's room was still too pink for her to nap in.

Saying goodnight to her parents, she stepped out with Jane and Trent into the balmy summer night. It was beautiful, and they walked the few blocks at an easy pace.

Trent carried his acoustic guitar, the case battered and ancient. It looked as though the handle would pull off if he swung it too hard. Still, Daria knew that was deceiving. It suited him; he was never one to worry about appearances. Yes, the instrument was old, a small bodied Martin steel string that had seen better days, but she had sat back this evening, captivated by the beauty that Trent had drawn from it. That last solo song of the evening wasn't a cover; it was something that he had written. It was sweet, hopeful, and at the same time sad. To almost everyone at the party, it was a perfect theme for the evening- a celebration of achievement, and a goodbye between friends, some of whose paths might never again cross.

To Daria, though, it seemed that it was something that he had sung to her. True, he would make eye contact with Quinn and her friends as he sang, but his eyes always seemed to find her. She still remembered the last notes he had played, looking into her eyes as though seeking her approval.

She wanted to ask him about that, but for some reason the question seemed to catch in her throat.

_Why was she being so weird around Trent?_

_ He said that he wasn't expecting anything from her; it was that he just needed to let her know how he felt. _

_We don't have forever to work things out, he had said. _

_What things? We? She and Trent were not a thing. She had gotten over that guy a long time ago. _

_Except that the Trent Lane she remembered was no more. Apparently, he had been abducted by Aliens and replaced by a new and improved model. Well, okay, there was still that touch of narcolepsy there, but still…this Trent…_

* * *

She yawned.

The sheets were warm, and she could imagine that they smelled like him. It was a nice dream. There was no harm in a little fantasy, right?

Where were her glasses? She had to go to the bathroom. She felt around on the bedside table. Nothing. Hell, they must have fallen on the floor.

Opening her eyes, she tried to get up, but found herself pinned.

Under a sleeping Trent's arm.

_Ah Hell. _

She groaned as the details began surfacing in her memory. If she had had the room to move, she would have facepalmed.

Slowly, carefully, she wriggled herself free, determined not to wake him up in the process. In the dim light, she took in his form, the covers a mess. He was still dressed for bed, an ancient t-shirt and a ridiculous pair of Scooby-Doo boxers. There was no explanation besides an addled bit of near sleepwalking. Getting on her knees, she swept her hand under the edge of the bed. No glasses.

Dammit. Well, she still had to go.

Slowly opening the door, she squinted up and down the hall. She was in Trent's doorway, and it was about four in the morning. Thankfully, Jane was snoring softly down the hall.

Finishing up, she made her way back to Penney's room, finding her glasses on the nightstand where she had placed them. She dug through her bag on the chair, pulling out her toiletries pouch by feel. She found the round plastic dispenser and checked the arc of pills with the light from her cellphone. None were missed; she had gotten into the habit of taking them automatically.

Okay.

Now what? What was going on with her?

What was she thinking?

But that was it, in a nutshell. She wasn't thinking. She was acting on her feelings. She had gotten up sometime in the middle of the night, made her way to the bathroom, and somehow or other detoured into his room. She had slipped into his bed, and indulged in the feel of his warmth and scent.

Blame it on the hormonal autopilot.

But that wasn't her. She _knew_ that she wasn't wired that way. Still, she had not interrupted her contraceptive regimen even though she honestly had no interest in recreational sex, and didn't have a partner anymore. It was just a precaution, just in case.

In case of what?

She knew that she had learned the hard way (no pun intended) that she needed to trust her lover. By that principle, there really was only one candidate, and she had known that she would be seeing him after the beginning of the summer break.

Without thinking about it, she had kept on taking the pill.

She couldn't claim to have been drunk. Getting plastered at her sister's party, in her parent's house, wasn't an option, even if for her that would have been just one and a half beers. At least it hadn't progressed beyond enjoying his warmth and peaceful slumber, his skin against her bare leg. She had wanted to, but she didn't wake him up. She had rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up slightly; he had responded unconsciously by draping his arm around her midsection and drawing her close like a teddy bear. She had reached over and taken his hand in hers, drifting off to sleep as she fell into cadence with his breathing.

That's all it was. A simple lapse of judgment, brought on by fatigue. He probably didn't even know what had happened, and she could likely get away with this by simply not saying a word in the morning when he woke up. She would deny it by failing to mention it.

But she _had_ slipped into his room. She had joined him in his bed while tired out of her mind, but that was it. She did _not_ have sex with him, even though her unconscious mind was probably furious with her. She slipped the pill dispenser back into her bag, wondering what exactly it was that she was going to wind up doing to herself, despite being a smart woman who supposedly knew better.

* * *

He was in the kitchen making coffee when she came silently down the stairs. She fought the urge to slip out the door without a word, and get into her car. To do what? To go where? Just because she was too much of a coward to walk into the kitchen, pull him away from the coffeemaker and read him the riot act for so thoroughly discombobulating her? What right did he have to casually tell her he was in _love_ with her, turning every damn thing upside down? Just _because_, he had said.

Screw that.

_Trent Lane, you are a fucking asshole._

She walked into the kitchen, loaded for bear.

Well, okay, primed for maybe a somewhat overweight squirrel.

She had to strike now, while her resolve was there. She stopped a few feet away. His back was to her as he poured milk into the little carafe, so that it would warm and not cool her coffee too much. He was being so damn thoughtful.

She took a breath, holding it for a second, letting the rage build.

"Hey, Trent," she managed to croak_. Oh, for God's sake._

"Morning, Daria," he said slowly. "Coffee?"

She nodded weakly, accepting the cup from him. He carried her milk to the table, where the spoon and saucer were already waiting; she sat, carefully placing the cup down.

He sat across from her, eyes on the cup he carried. "You know, I dreamed you came to me in the night and crawled into bed with me, and then we…" he stopped.

"We what?" Daria closed her eyes, regretting that question immediately.

"Um… I dreamt that we made love." At least he had the decency to blush. After a moment of silence, he took a mouthful of coffee, in order to shut the hell up before she brained him with the frying pan that was unfortunately within her reach.

She shot him a _look._

"I did not _crawl _into your bed. I just kind of…I mean…"

Trent did a spit-take.

"God, Daria, I'm sorry," he apologized, jumping up for a clean dishtowel. He rushed back, handing it to her.

She slowly took her glasses off, and toweled the lenses clean. "Trent, you can be so suave," she smirked. She patted the coffee off her face, and then wiped her arms off. She stood up slowly, and wiped off the table. Her new, white v-necked t-shirt was spattered.

She avoided his eyes. "This needs to soak so the coffee doesn't stain it." She turned away and walked to the bathroom.

Trent facepalmed. "Idiot," he muttered. _Now what? She thinks I'm a total moron._ He hesitated, and then followed her.

She filled the sink with cold water. As he came around the corner, he heard her swearing softly, and pulled back. She had pulled off her top, and was examining her bra. Without thinking, she slipped out of it as well and dropped the garments into the water.

"Dammit," she muttered. She stood there, covering her breasts with her arms. She sensed him standing in the doorway. _What was the point of fighting this? I practically throw myself at him in the middle of the night, and now I'm half naked in front of him?_ She finally exhaled loudly, shaking her head. Despite her best efforts the corners of her mouth were turning up in a smile. She looked at him over her shoulder. "You know, your approach is kind of unorthodox, but you're pretty good at this seduction thing."

_Nor am I very good at this thinking thing! Why did I say that? I'm not trying-_

He stepped into the room, emboldened by the permission in her voice. "How could you not be turned on? I spit coffee on you."

"_Very_ sexy," she laughed sofly, turning to him.

"I guess it's working?"

Daria fell silent, feeling herself flush. She looked at him standing there, resenting his calm. That was part of the attraction; he was like a control rod in a nuclear reactor. He had this way of soothing her, turning off the part of her mind that fretted constantly. Once she had learned to trust him, she could quiet herself enough to actually appreciate that about him.

_You know what you want, and you're trying to wall it off with logic, why it won't work, why it can't work. We don't have forever to work things out. Jane and I are leaving for Boston in a week. What then, Morgendorffer? Regrets?_

_No matter what I do, there will be regrets. Emotional or rational; maybe both._

"God, Daria, you are so beautiful," he whispered, stepping close and putting his arms around her.

She felt something like an electric shock, but she knew that it wasn't exactly that. She didn't let herself relax into the embrace, but she also didn't put up any resistance. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Not here," she whispered in his ear.

"Kitchen table?"

She scoffed quietly, pushing him away and unintentionally exposing herself. "Stop _staring._ Can I borrow your shirt?"

Putting it on, she made her way upstairs and into Penney's room. He hesitated, not sure if he should follow her. He could hear things being moved around, and moments later she appeared in the doorway with her bag.

He didn't say anything, but the disappointment in his face was clear. He had pushed her too hard and too far, and she had packed her stuff away.

Well, what did he expect? He reached for the bag, but she held on to it. She pushed past him, and he followed, defeated.

She looked so damn _hot_ in his shirt. Her shoulders were narrow, and the sleeves hung loosely, moving in a different way as she walked, making his throat constrict as he watched the fluid motion of the fabric.

She gave him a curious look.

She stopped outside his bedroom door, looking at the head of the stairs ahead. She could turn left, into his room, or keep walking, get in her car, leave this mess behind her and get on with her life.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**The Deep End**_

He stepped around her, into his room. He leaned against the doorframe, not quite looking at her. "I can't walk you to your car," he said quietly. "I can't watch you leave again, not like this."

"Look at me, Trent_." This isn't just about me. Can I hurt him? He doesn't deserve that kind of pain. Look at him, he's put his own life on hold, supporting his sister. But what does that leave for me? For us? I can't see how it would work, but I know I want this. He wants this._

_ Damn rocks and hard places. _

"Can I put some of my stuff in your dresser?"

* * *

She let him pull her close as they lay in his bed.

"You seem to be able to look at a complicated situation and still know what it's all about," she said, her ear against his chest. She listened to him breathing; long measures against the beating of his heart. "You have the ability to simplify things, to see things clearly. I don't. I get lost in the details, so I fret about stuff I can't do anything about."

He ran his fingers through her hair. He loved the color, the texture, its clean smell. "You don't sweat much, do you?"

"What?" Was he listening?

"Your hair. It's always clean smelling. You always smell clean."

"I'm lazy and don't do anything. Are you listening to me?"

"You see things that nobody else notices, and you try to work it out. You take longer to process stuff, but when you do, it's to a level of detail that most people would just totally miss," he said quietly. "I'm listening to you, but I'm also trying to fully savor this time together."

She found her annoyance instantly fading. "Damn you, Lane, you can be so fucking perfect sometimes. It's maddening."

He let out a laugh. "Sometimes. A lot of the time you might think I'm clueless. But I know we just made _love,_ Daria. I couldn't call it anything else."

She snuggled up to him. "I know. What I don't know is why I'm doing this."

"Because you love me, in whatever way you've wrapped it up in that big brain of yours. That's my simple, hopeful view of it."

"And I've been fighting it tooth and nail. Complicating things, again."

"You should do what you feel you need to, what's right for you." He slipped his fingers through her hair again, pulling her closer and drawing her into a long, passionate kiss.

After a long, breathless moment, she pulled away from him, sitting up and staring at the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to keep going with you here?" She stood, and began looking for her clothes. "Now I love you, and I can't have you."

"You've always had me-" he stopped, having processed the whole of her sentence. "You love me?"

The look on his face made her smile.

"You almost had me convinced that you weren't oblivious. Yes, I love you. Despite every argument I had for not letting myself get into this situation, I still managed to fall for you." She pulled her shorts on, noticing him staring at her legs. _It's hot today, dammit. I didn't buy these for you._

_ Hell. Yes I did, three days ago, before I gave in._

She picked up his old Nirvana t-shirt and pulled it on. It smelled like him.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and thought about covering her legs with a pillow.

He was silent for a long time. "I know you have to go back to Boston. Your life and future is there; my life is here, for the moment."

She thought about those last three words. She looked at him, searching his eyes.

He said nothing more, drawing her back for another long, sweet kiss.

* * *

"So you moved into his room?" Jane murmured with forced casualness. She put the basket of clothes on Trent's bed, handing Daria her shirt and bra. She had to smile; she always knew that her friend wasn't plain looking, but…damn. Great legs.

"We leave in a week. It's better than nothing." _Morgendorffer, you are such an idiot._

"What happens after this?"

"I have no idea, Jane."

"Did Trent make it to work on time?"

"Shut up, Lane."

"Buy me some new earplugs and I'll shut up."

"Deal."

She could hold it in no longer. "You two are so damn _cute_ together!"

"Let's go get those earplugs now," Daria groaned.

"You should at least put a bra on, but the oversize guy shirt looks good on you…very- what's the word?"

"If you say _waiflike_, you're dead." She picked up her clothing, pushing Jane out the door. "This shirt kinda smells anyway. Thanks for washing these."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Better Than Unicorns**_

Quinn gave her a knowing look, which irritated Daria to no end. Well, she wasn't playing along.

"Tell me again why I'm here at a damn mall?

"Mom's making me take you shopping. You need some new clothes, and you know it. She's paying, so you'd be stupid not to take advantage of it."

Daria rolled her eyes. "Right. Mom's _making_ you."

"You'll need some presentable clothes for work. Thrift store things work at school, but you'll be in an office," Quinn said reasonably. "Could be worse, you could be doing the usual student grunt work. How did you score this job without trying?"

"Head of the Journalism department asked instructors for lists of candidates, and my name was on two of them. I didn't even take a class from this one woman, but it turned out that her partner is my writing professor."

"Figures," smiled Quinn. "You're a professional writer, as of this summer."

"Just a PR copywriter. It's really more like a paid internship. But it _is_ a kind of high end firm; they provide web content, research and analysis for progressive clients."

"They write stuff for liberal websites."

"That's what I said," smirked Daria, impressed that Quinn had gotten it so quickly.

"Sis, can I ask you a personal question?"

Daria sighed. "You're going to anyway."

Quinn gave her that knowing look again. "How's Trent?"

Daria flushed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Something's changed, and I'm guessing it has to do with him," Quinn smiled serenely, trying to keep it from turning into a grin.

"Did Jane put a note on my back or something? _I slept with Trent Lane and it was better than unicorns?_"

"Ew. That would suggest that you've slept with a unicorn, which would be sick," laughed Quinn. "She would, but she didn't."

"Is it _that _obvious?"

"You seem happy, sis, so yeah."

Daria was quiet for a long time, watching the people around them, but trying not to notice the occasional couple that would walk by, hand in hand. "For now, yeah."

"The glass is half _full,_ Daria," Quinn said quietly. "You don't know what's going to happen now. He knows that you can't make big changes because too much is at stake for you right now. Your future is far more structured than his is. He knows that, right?"

"Yeah. The thing is, he's the one supporting Jane. BFAC is an expensive school, and she needs his help. She never asked him, but she needs more that the grants and the small amount of money her parents had available. She can't make it up with the part time lab job she has at school, so she was going to settle for as much as she could get out of BFAC with the resources she had. But Trent wants her to make it all the way through, for her to get her degree there. He's the one paying her living expenses, covering her share of the rent and feeding her. I'm _not_ going to take that away from her."

Quinn sat back. "So you're thinking that Trent's stuck here until Jane gets through BFAC?"

"Well, he's got things all worked out now. He's got a job, has a teaching gig, and he's making enough money. I feel like I'm just going to be throwing a wrench into the works now."

"He might surprise you. He's not like any guy I've met. I always thought he was a total slacker from what I saw before, but I know you mean as much to him as his own sister. When he was helping me find a good photo of you for that picture frame, I could tell that he was totally into you. Maybe he'll figure something out."

Daria smiled softly. Her sister was trying to make her feel better. Even if she was wrong, Quinn was trying.

* * *

"Wow, some of this stuff is new," whistled Jane, looking at the clothes Daria was packing away into a secondhand suitcase. "Nice shoes."

"Those are from Quinn's friend Stacy. Quinn's cleaning out her closet and took a pile of things over to see if Stacy wanted any of it, and she snagged those for me. We wear the same size. Oh, and these two black sweaters are for you, if you want them."

"Hey, cool! Wait, aren't these from Quinn's 'brain' phase?"

"Yup. That one was worn once, and the other one is still new."

"Nice." Jane held them up with a grin. "So you're gonna dress to impress for the first week, until they figure out that they shouldn't let you near their clients and then they'll let you work in the back so you can go back to your jeans and boots?"

"Aren't you _supposed_ to be watching the pasta? My sauce is simmering."

"Well put, Amiga," smirked Jane as she headed back to the kitchen.

* * *

"Stephanie, there's plenty of food here," Daria said, tasting the sauce. "We're not waiting until your dad picks you up, so you may as well have something to eat with us."

The young teenage girl smiled shyly, leaning her guitar case in the corner. "I don't want to bother you guys; I can wait in the living room."

"Nah, Steph, it's okay. Daria's a great cook, too." He gave her a little kiss and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

"You two are so _cute_ together," giggled the girl. "I love the photos he has of you guys downstairs."

"He has photos of us in the studio?"

"You two together, and you and his sister, in his area."

Jane smiled as she portioned out the pasta onto plates. "Is there a picture of a redhead over in the bass teacher's area?"

"You mean Mister Griffen's girlfriend?"

Daria looked up. "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I saw her once at the music store. Hey, she looks like you."

"That would be Daria's sister," grinned Jane. "Guess the Morgendorffer women like musicians."

"Like I said, Quinn and Paul are kinda getting to be a _thing,"_ Trent smiled, walking back into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. "Steph, want something to drink?"

"Still have this from the studio," she smiled, holding up a can of diet cola.

"You're drinking water too, missy," Jane frowned, handing her a glass. "All righty then, dinner's ready. Grab a seat!"

Trent began transferring a salad of unevenly chopped lettuce and carrot chunks into small bowls.

"Well, he's trying," smiled Jane.

"My brother makes this kind of salad too," said Stephanie. She turned to Daria. "So do you play guitar too?"

She shook her head. "No, it's not something I ever thought I'd be any good at."

"I figured you might, since your fingernails are really short. Mister Lane made me cut the nails on my fretting hand really, _really_ short."

"Builds the calluses on the fingertips, so you can fret the notes cleanly," reminded Trent. "It's also how I can tell you're serious, since a lot of girls lose interest once they find that out."

"How come you never asked Trent to teach you?" asked Jane. "I remember you had a small, kinda cheesy guitar in your closet when I was helping you pack for college."

Daria laughed. "I got that when I was little. I asked my parents for a guitar after seeing reruns of an old cartoon show character called _El Kabong."_

Trent spoke up around a mouthful. "Was that the horse character that used to go around whacking bad guys over the head with a guitar?"

"That's the one. My dad suspected that I wasn't really serious about it so he got me a cheap kid's guitar. After I got it, it didn't seem like it would do much damage to Quinn's skull so I set about trying to play the stupid thing. I didn't get very far, and that was the end of that."

"Crappy guitars like that should be illegal," frowned Trent. "I'll bet it was almost impossible to play. No wonder you lost interest."

"You should have seen the lame songbook that came with it."

"You need to teach her," smiled Stephanie. "You're a really good teacher."

Daria blushed; Jane laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Apart for Now**_

It was an obscenely beautiful morning when they packed their stuff into Daria's ratty car. Trent checked to see that the guitar case wasn't going to be smashed by a shifting bag or suitcase, and then covered it with a towel.

"You sure about your guitar?" Daria murmured, closing the hatchback.

"It's your guitar now," Trent said softly, pulling her into an embrace. "Just remember, it's not El Kabong's guitar. I'm pretty sure Janey's head would break it."

Daria laughed. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry, it'll never leave the house. I know how much it's worth, and I want you to know that it's pretty priceless to me."

"Remember to practice those diminished chords."

"I will."

Trent and Daria kissed one last time; Jane snuck a photo. Finally, Daria climbed into the driver's seat. She looked at him, leaning on her open windowsill.

"I'm not going to look back, because this is hard enough as it is."

Six hours later, they pulled into the driveway of their cottage. Daria set the brake and turned the engine off. She closed her eyes, exhausted. "Go on in, Jane, I'll be just a minute."

Giving her a small smile, Jane walked around to the back and pulled out the guitar case and her duffle bag, hauling them to the front door. "Hey, can you bring my folio when you come in?"

Daria nodded, and waited for the door to close behind Jane. After a moment, she reached behind her seat and pulled her backpack into her lap. Unzipping the outside pocket, she pulled out a neatly folded t-shirt, bringing it to her face and willing herself to not dilute his scent with tears.

_So, so complicated. God, I'm such a mess right now._

_ Last night I was able to play a simplified arrangement of __Roads __all the way through. He didn't have to correct my technique, and I missed his touch when he would adjust the positions of my fingers._

_ Get it together, Morgendorffer. He's just a guy, right?_

_ Bull fucking shit._

* * *

"You'd make a formidable poker player, Daria," smiled Grace Hanlon.

"It would have been a poor career move to put strychnine in Mike's coffee, I suppose."

"You still handled it well. I've asked him several times to not do that to new hires. My photo editor has a strange sense of humor." The CEO took a sip of her decaf. "I just wanted to let you know that I've heard good things about you during your first week here. Marlene is happy to have you working for her."

"Really?" Daria smiled as she discarded the K-cup from the machine. "I didn't think she was particularly impressed one way or another."

Grace smiled. "I suppose she just glances at your work without a lot of comment. Marlene is a perfectionist, so if she doesn't just throw it back to you immediately for a rewrite, that means she's impressed." She looked over Daria's shoulder and winked at her. "Watch," she said softly.

"Marlene," Grace called sharply. "Anna's having some issues with the McBeath project. Can I transfer Daria to her team?"

"WHAT?" came the heated response. "I haven't even had the chance to do her first week's review!"

"So you want to keep her?"

"She's the first person I haven't had to watch like a hawk," Marlene said evenly. "Damn right I want her. Come on, Daria. We need to talk before our team meeting."

* * *

"Don't wait up," Jane smiled. "Matt and I are going to play with the new plasma torch at the sculpture lab."

"Have fun on your hot date," smirked Daria. "Hey, Matt."

"Hi Daria, you covered for tonight?"

"Lay off," growled Jane. "I _told _you, keep your nasty friends away from her. She's having high tech online sex with my brother tonight."

Daria blushed. "It's a guitar lesson via video call, Matt."

"See, told you," grinned Jane. "I'll make you a steel pencil cup, Daria."

"You can weld me up a guitar," Daria replied. "Trent made me promise not to use mine on your head. Lock the door on your way out."

* * *

"Fingers still hurt?" Trent smiled on the laptop's screen. "Your technique is really clean."

Daria rubbed the tips of her left hand fingers against her jeans. "Not any more," she replied. "Do you always start your students off with a lot of theory?"

"I tailor my lesson plans to each student's learning style, and you like to understand why you're doing things. It also helps that you can read musical notation, so I've emphasized chord theory. The guitar differs from the flute you remember in that it's more like a piano, able to play more than one note at a time."

"Works for me. I'm glad you're not making me play a bunch of stupid songs."

"You choose the music you want to play."

"_Roads_ is the best song you've written, Trent. I loved it when you played it at Quinn's party."

"You play it beautifully, Daria." He fell silent for a long time, picking out the refrain. After awhile, he began the first verse in earnest.

Daria began playing along; Trent adjusted the arrangement as they played together. "Sing louder, Daria."

She did, finding it easier with him. He began to sing with her, their voices harmonizing naturally. She watched him on the screen, watching his lips as he sang. _God, I miss him so much. I want him here with me._ She watched the muscles in his neck, his shoulders, his fretting hand as he played and sang. She sang and played for him, putting her heart into it. _This just flows so effortlessly_. It was nothing like the stuff that he had written for Mystik Spiral. _Freakin' Friends_ was her favorite Trent Lane song, at least until this came along. She was zoned, deep into the music and the emotion. The light from his desk lamp skimmed across his face, the black hair like silk between her fingers, his lips soft against her skin.

_Beautiful, beautiful boy, to have created such a lovely piece of music. _

They came to the end, Daria feeling a bit lightheaded from singing, the notes still in her ears.

"Trent, when did you write this?"

"When I realized that I loved you."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 9**_

_**Summer Solitude**_

"Hi, I'm here to pick up my guitar," Daria yawned, handing over the repair ticket. "It's that prewar Martin 00-15 in the really ugly case."

The man behind the counter smiled. "Sounds like you're having a rough week." He took the ticket from her and carefully checked the numbers.

"Yeah, there's a big project at work, and I'm looking forward to getting it back so I can get some practice in before my lesson this weekend."

He called over to an older gentleman who was checking an inventory file on a computer behind him. "Hey, Ziggy, here's the woman who brought in that vintage Martin." He laid the case on the counter so she could check it out.

"You're from Lawndale?" asked the older man, who had come over to admire the old instrument.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I sold this guitar to Jamie at Dega Street Music. I owed him a favor. He said that he sold it to one of his employees."

"My boyfriend," Daria smiled. It still seemed strange to say out loud, but it was becoming more and more natural to her. "He's teaching me to play, and the smaller 00 size is a lot more comfortable for me. He wanted me to learn on a good instrument, and he has his Alvarez dreadnought."

"This is a fine example," Ziggy intoned. "May I?"

Daria nodded; the guitar was carefully lifted from its case. "I worked on this myself. Did your boyfriend suggest the bridge truss installation?"

"Well, I did some research and he agreed. The intonation was sounding slightly off, and I realized that the top was beginning to belly."

"You noticed the intonation error?"

"It's pretty subtle, but it's there. It was hard to ignore once I noticed it."

"Young lady, you have excellent ears. Most players wouldn't hear it. Is the action to your liking?"

"It's a bit high, but I thought I'd wait until I settled in to a definite style. I think it could be played harder than I do right now, so if I had the action dropped I might regret it later."

"Smart. As it is, it's sounding quite good. This instrument is set up for an experienced player. Most beginners would prefer a lower action and extra-light strings." Ziggy was smiling broadly. "Whatever circumstances placed this instrument in your hands, I can see it's being well cared for and appreciated. Let me give it a polish for you. It slows the oxidation of the lacquer; it'll be just a few minutes. Nate, let her try the Santa Cruz while she waits. I'm curious to see what she thinks."

Nate smiled and unlocked a glass fronted cabinet, taking down a beautiful 000-size guitar. "Handmade, in the style of a vintage Martin," he smiled.

"I'm still learning, so bear with me," Daria said, a bit self-consciously. She pulled a stool over and carefully settled in with the expensive instrument. She began with a few simple arpeggio runs, and then a range of C chords in differing positions. She closed her eyes, enjoying the different tonality of the guitar. It was set up to be easier to play, and she found herself playing the intro to _Roads_.

After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, blushing when she realized that Ziggy had returned with her guitar and had been listening to her playing.

"What do you think?" He asked simply.

"It's got a nice bright tonal balance, but I still prefer the sound of my Martin. It's got a warmer voice than this. Oh, and I think the intonation is very slightly off as well. Sour grapes," she smiled, "I could never afford this."

Ziggy laughed. "I thought you were a beginner. Try your guitar now."

She exchanged guitars and settled in; noting the clear differences. Smiling softly, she began playing the reprise to _Roads,_ and then the first verse. She was surprised at the immediate familiarity of the neck under her fingers, the curve of the sides under her right arm, and the warm vibration of the back against her chest. She segued into _Summer Solitude_, her own composition that was a work in progress, picking out the bell-like harmonics in the turnarounds. Curious, she played up the neck and was pleased at the improvement.

"Beautiful," she murmured as she paid for the work. "Thank you, it sounds even better than I had hoped for."

"I took the liberty of replacing the handle on this case, smiled Ziggy. "The attachment points are reinforced from the inside. No charge, in the interest of preserving a bit of our musical heritage."

Ziggy walked her to her car, carrying the instrument carefully. He smiled as she placed it gently on the back seat, covering it with a white towel to keep it out of direct sunlight. "You play quite well. Who is your instructor?"

"Trent Lane. He's still back in Lawndale, unfortunately. We use a videocall application on our laptops. I may be biased, but I think he's a very good teacher. He's really good at adjusting his methods to suit the student's learning style. He's got quite a few students, and works for your friend Jamie part time."

"You are obviously quite fond of him. It must be difficult, with him far away."

"It's complicated, and yes, it plain sucks," Daria laughed.

She waved as she drove out of the parking lot.

_You're a lucky man, Trent Lane,_ reflected Ziggy, walking back into the store.

He smiled at Nate as he took his seat again at the computer. "She was right, you know. Miho broke the G string on that Santa Cruz this morning and put a loose G on. Can you restring it with a full set?"

"Already done, Zig. That chick has good ears."

Ziggy smiled as he pulled over the repair logbook. He had remembered correctly; her business card was stapled into the book.

_Hanlon, Page and Myers, LLC;_ _Daria Morgendorffer, Assistant Editor._

Opening another window on his computer, he Googled the company. _Good ears, and apparently, a very sharp mind._

He pulled out his cellphone. "Jamie? It's Zig."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 10**_

_**Looking Out For You**_

"Aren't you gonna ask me about Trent, Sis?"

Daria buried her head under her pillow while still managing to keep the phone against her ear. "As in do I want to know what he's doing while I'm away?"

"Don't you trust your boyfriend?"

"It's not him, it's the women that think he's a sexy, available guy that I don't trust." Her stomach began to feel a little weird. "He's going to forget about me."

"_Hel-lo?"_

Daria was amazed that she could hear her sister's eyeroll over the phone.

"Listen, Sis, you're being a ninny." Quinn paused. "I know what that means, but where did that word come from anyway?"

"Short form of _nincompoop."_

"That's_ exactly _what you're being, a _nincompoop._ Hey, that's better than_ ninny."_

"Look, Quinn, I appreciate that you're calling to see how I'm doing, but it's early Saturday morning, and I had a long lesson with Trent last night."

"You mean you had a lesson with him and cybersex afterwards. Boy, Daria, you can be loud!"

"You HEARD us? He had headphones on, and-" Daria facepalmed. "Funny, Quinn." She held the phone away from her ear until the laughter died down.

"Sorry, I figured that was why he always locks himself in his room when you guys do the lessons. Paul and I were downstairs watching TV and didn't hear a thing, honest."

"Stop laughing, it's not funny," Daria groused, fighting to keep a smile from sneaking across her face. "Okay, it's funny, but dammit, once a month is not enough!"

"Once a month, all day long. Boo hoo, Sis," snickered Quinn.

"Jerk," sighed Daria. "_Your_ boyfriend is right there."

"Look, Sis, he's behaving himself," Quinn went on after calming herself. "He knows Paul and I will kick his ass into next year if he does something stupid. Besides, he's not going to forget about you. You should see the Daria reliquary in the studio. It's very unprofessional, but it _is_ cute. Check your email, I sent you a pic."

"You could have just messaged-"

"You need to see it on a larger screen. Go on, look now. It'll make you feel better."

"Fine, but it better be worth it." Daria threw off the covers and padded over to her desk. Quinn fell silent, waiting for it.

"What the hell?" Daria gaped at the screen. Apparently, it had started with one of Jane's paintings of her reading, which was in the center of the screen. Photos had been added, along with an enlarged scan of her business card, a copy of her grades, and a complex assortment of ephemera that looked suspiciously like it was supplied by a certain dark-haired artist down the hall. Trent had added a little shelf in front, upon which rested a Cornell box that Daria knew for certain that Jane had made- a rude little composition featuring Trent's lucky guitar pick and what appeared to be a guitar somehow made out of a thong. Flanking it were several votive candles, with the whole composition framed by an odd tubular frame that somehow looked like giant chewed pencils.

"You still think he's gonna forget about you?" laughed Quinn.

"That's not my thong. I don't have one."

"He said he was going to give it to you but he chickened out."

"Smart boy. Wait, did you say that this is in the STUDIO? How big is it?"

"About five feet, two inches tall," giggled Quinn. "The candles were Stephanie's first contribution. She's quite your little fan. She even made another little version of this in a glass-fronted box, built around a photo of you with your guitar. She talked Jamie into putting it on the wall as an art piece at the music store."

"She sounds like a younger version of Jane," smiled Daria.

"She wields a pretty wicked hot glue gun and digital camera. Yesterday she told me that I'm really lucky to have a sister like you."

"_You're_ the one that gave Steph my email address. She sends me intel on Trent at least once a week."

Quinn laughed. "She's so cute. She thinks you and Trent are the perfect couple."

* * *

"Hold _still_, Daria."

"How long does it take to paint my ass?"

"It's a very _cute_ ass. I have to do it justice. Trent will love this."

"I know one day I'll live to regret this. Did you _have_ to take all those photos? And speaking of those, why am I still here anyway freezing my butt off?"

"You're not freezing, it's August. Anyway, I've got to finish before the birthday boy shows up this weekend."

"You better not make my ass too big."

"Daria," Jane sighed, pausing. "What is with this negative self –image of yours? I don't get it at all. You're a pretty woman, and you know Trent only sees that as a bonus. He loves you for who you are inside, where it counts." She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, I sound like _Doctor Phil."_

Daria said nothing for a long moment.

"What are you calling this painting?"

"_Horny Girlfriend Giving Up and Going to Sleep,"_ smiled Jane. "OW!" She bent down and retrieved the apple. "Hey, I was going to eat this. You know, I can still make your ass big."

"What are you calling this, really? You know it's going to be included in a posthumous exhibition of your work."

"_Reclining Muse with Guitar,"_ Jane managed around a mouthful of fruit. "So answer my question. Why do you put yourself down? I mean, you've gotten more comfortable in your own skin, but every so often you slide back into insecurity. I remember how even back when we were in high school, you knew you could look as good as Quinn, but you always chose not to."

Daria sat up, covering her breasts with her arms.

"I guess it's because back then I had nothing but my self-respect to lose." She looked around for her clothing. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Sure. I'll just use my imagination. Want me to turn around?"

"No, it's fine. Not like you haven't seen everything there is to see."

Jane watched the play of light and color across Daria's skin as she dressed, noting the coolness of the shadows and the warm flush as her muscles flexed, pulling her favorite shirt over her hair.

"Physical attraction only lasts for so long, but for some reason it feels like we can't seem to remember that sometimes. Every so often I wonder if I could really compete with some of those women that find Trent as attractive as I do. I love him for who I learned he really was, but I can't seem to find that border between the attraction of my body and my… soul."

"Daria, you wouldn't find him so attractive if it was just physical. He's a good looking guy, I guess, but I have to think that because he's my brother. That's not what made your brain disengage from your mouth when you were sixteen. You felt an attraction that went beyond his looks and even his personality back then. Eventually your rational side buried it, but you were feeling a connection to his soul even back then. So did he, but it took him a little while to figure it out."

Daria said nothing. Leaving her socks and shoes on the floor, she walked around to Jane's side of the easel, expecting to be scolded for looking before it was finished.

Instead, Jane stepped aside so she could get a good look at this work in progress. "I'm not into this representational style, but I think I like this anyway." She watched as Daria took in the painting, wondering what was going on in that brain.

She stood there, lips slightly parted, hardly breathing. "Really? This is what you see?"

Jane followed her gaze, finding it centered on the eyes of the woman in the painting. Bright brown eyes, looking back over the left shoulder at the viewer. A corner of the mouth was visible, turned very slightly and hesitantly up, but clearly expressing a deep longing about to be fulfilled. The shoulders were delicate and narrow, the right arm partly extended and obscured by the cascade of auburn hair.

The back curved gently in repose; the bedcovers pushed aside. The hips and figure were petite and unmistakably feminine. Sheets of musical manuscript paper were scattered, and an open journal rested on a chair in the background. The left hand was resting on the side of a guitar, which the figure was curled up to.

"It's beautiful, Jane," she murmured quietly. "Thank you."

She studied it in silence for a long time, and slowly she began to smirk.

"What exactly is the muse doing with that guitar?"

Jane edged towards the door before answering.

"Making a ukulele?"


	11. Chapter 11

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 11**_

_**Life is For Learning**_

"How did Trent know about this place? It's pretty cool," asked Matt. "Look, they have live music here." From the outside, the place looked like a dive, but they had been surprised when they walked in the door.

"I don't know," said Daria. "It's his birthday, and this is where he wanted to come." She looked out the window into the night. "They must own this property to have this view of the harbor."

"Yeah, it's not like most brew pubs would have the revenue for this kind of real estate these days," Jane said, checking out the large resin coated cable spool that served as their table. "I never heard of _Yasgur's,_ but it looks like everybody else did. Sucks being underage in this place," she groused, giving Matt a look.

"One more year, kid," he teased, still looking at the stage. "Geez, look at that backline. Those are classics, like from the late sixties," Matt indicated the old road-worn Ampeg, Sunn and Hiwatt amplifiers.

It was definitely a place that cared about music; it had a clear sixties and seventies vibe going. There was kind of a balcony where the tables and lounging areas had a clear view of the raised central stage, and there were video projectors that were displaying a definitely old-school psychedelic lightshow on the wall. Every so often they would dim, returning to a familiar graphic showing a dove perched on the neck of a guitar.

The acoustics were surprising. While the place looked like the inside of an old barn, bales of hay had been stacked in what seemed to be a purposeful way, and there were no parallel walls. Even the ceiling had acoustic treatment, with bass traps and angled panels to prevent room resonances.

Along the back wall were stacked what appeared to be rough plywood speaker cabinets painted black, topped by huge old horns that looked like they were stolen from a stadium. Apparently they were for décor only, as high end studio monitors were visible over the stage.

"Where did you find the money to take us all out to eat this weekend?" Jane said, reaching for one of the menus.

"I got a surprise bonus at work," Daria admitted. "So dinner's kind of a thing for Trent and a little celebration for me. They asked me at the office to continue after school starts. My workflow's been modified to allow me to work remotely, and I'll need to go into the office only twice a week for a few hours."

"Sounds like they like your work. Still going to be working with Marlene?"

"Yeah, we've got it down. I handle the obvious stupid stuff, and pass on the things that need the big 'because I said so' stick to Marlene. I note down what I think should be done, and Marlene has the final word. This way some of the senior staff doesn't get pissed about being critiqued by a kid. I don't mind; Marlene is really good about making sure the CEO knows what I'm really doing."

Jane smiled proudly at her best friend. "If this guy wasn't sitting here, I'd give you a big congratulatory smooch with tongue."

Shaking his head, Matt leaned over and gave Daria a little hug, which she accepted gracefully. "No surprise, but congratulations anyway!"

"Thank you,"Daria smiled, trying not to acknowledge Jane sitting behind him; drawing her finger across her throat, pointing at her, and then pointing at her boyfriend while mouthing _mine!_

"Where did Trent go?" Daria wondered, looking around.

"Over there, talking to those two old guys," Jane pointed. The three men were heading in their direction.

"Thanks, I'll check this out and let you know," one of the older gentlemen said as Trent handed him a USB thumb drive.

"Hello again, Daria," said the other as they walked up to the table.

"Hi," she said, surprised. "Ziggy, right? From the music store."

"Ziggy and Ray are old friends of my boss Jamie," explained Trent. "They were in a band together back in the day. Ray, this is my girlfriend Daria, who Ziggy's already met; Jane, my sister, and her boyfriend Matt."

The group chatted amiably for awhile; the waitress came to take the drink orders.

"That's our cue to leave you kids in peace, smiled Ray. "Kate, whatever they want, it's on the house."

"No, really-" Daria began to protest.

"Humor your elders," Ziggy smiled, getting up.

"We're the entertainment for now," Ray laughed. "I pay these guys too much to afford a real band."

"You lie," Kate laughed. "Hope you guys like old hippie music," she stage-whispered to the table.

"Don't worry, it's an acoustic set," Ray laughed. "All that old shit up there is for show." The two walked off towards the stage.

"You know," Jane laughed, flipping through the menu, "I think mom used to cook stuff like this."

"There better be dead cow," frowned Daria, "I need my meat."

"Don't say it, Janey," intercepted Trent, trying to keep a straight face.

"Next to the last page," offered Matt diplomatically. "Hey, look, a wild mushroom salad with a dandelion wine vinaigrette."

"I'll remember to wear a little patchouli next time we come here," said Jane.

"Actually, I really like this place," Daria said, listening as the two old musicians launched into a _Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young_ cover. "That twelve string sounds great."

"Glad you like it," smiled Trent_._ He gazed fondly at his girlfriend, as though he couldn't quite believe that a guy like him could be so lucky.

_Your parents have that little photo of their hippie wedding on the fireplace mantle. Your Dad looked the happiest that I've ever seen him, and your Mom was beautiful, with a wildflower garland in her hair. _

He picked up one of the flowers that was in the middle of the table, and held it up to her hair_. _Maybe he was imagining it, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she reached up and pulled him into an oddly shy kiss_._

"Happy Birthday, Trent."

_A/N: Ray's pub is named for Max Yasgur, the dairy farmer who provided the venue for the 1969 Woodstock Festival in Bethel, New York. His farm was almost destroyed, and he became something of a pariah in the community for bringing upon them the plague of a half million hippies. Still, he had no regrets, believing that the principle of freedom of expression was what the country was about. _

_Right On, Max. Rest in peace._


	12. Chapter 12

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 12**_

_**Life Adjustment**_

She opened her eyes; feeling the weight on her bed alongside her. Turning her head, she traced his outline in her mind; she thought about how much of herself had been subtly altered to make a place for him in her life.

Those words. She had yearned to hear them.

But she found her joy was securely tethered to a cold fear, at once making it sweeter and at the same time making her tremble with apprehension.

"What did you say?"

He turned on his side and put his arm gently over her, pulling her close. "I'm moving to Boston. I'll be working for Ziggy, and I've got a gig at Yasgur's". She looked at him, and her eyes took on a different light. He smiled softly, stroking her cheek.

His eyes began to dampen as he felt her tears on his fingers.

She pulled herself up and nuzzled him, her head on his shoulder. She shifted her hip and her leg twined with his, making him harden again. He breathed in her scent, and she did the same.

"The more you give me," she said slowly and quietly, "The more you will destroy if I should ever lose you."

He stroked her hair for a long time, wondering what he could say that wouldn't betray the disappointment he couldn't help but feel_. I thought she would be happy._

"You don't trust me?" he murmured. "You know what you mean to me."

She pulled him tighter. "I don't mean to sound negative. I did say _if._ It's just that the longer I'm with you, the more I become afraid, because I've never allowed myself to be so exposed. I never thought that I could ever feel so complete."

"The distance was a bit of a safety net, then."

"In a way," she said quietly. "There was that physical demarcation between our lives, the separation between desire and reality. It was the ability to retreat, if just for a bit."

"You need your space, right?" The hurt in his voice was impossible to ignore.

"That's not what I mean. I need to get my mind off of you from time to time in order to get _anything _done. When you're here, I find myself…consumed."

"Do you want me to stay in Lawndale?"

"NO!"

"Then I guess I should find a place of my own," he sighed. "I was kind of hoping-"

"Stay with me."

"But-"

"That's not what I meant." _How do I explain this?_

* * *

All her life, she had wanted her independence. She sort of had that in the dorms; she could come and go as she pleased, and nobody would have a say in the matter. Conforming to the expectations of others had always been chafing, and in some circumstances it was unavoidable. In the extreme it would be defined as constraints; the machinations required for College being a given.

This was different.

It was where there would be the exercise of choice and freedom- there was the rub.

She was sharing a place with Jane, but this relationship with her brother had put a wrinkle in that situation.

She wanted her space, but how would Trent see that? What did that really mean?

She liked having new friends, some of whom were other guys. Yes, there were some that she found herself being attracted to, but she always chose her relationship with Trent. No question, he was special to her, he was one of the closest people to her, and he alone was her lover.

But sharing a bedroom with him might mean that she had no free will in the matter. She would be faithful to him, but it would be because she _wanted_ to be; she would not have it forced upon her. It would also mean that she would have no refuge to study, and to write and be alone. She had gotten too used to stretches of solitude; it was her meditative escape. There would be no escape for her if Trent got stupid on her, and no escape _from_ her when-not if- she did the same to him.

She loved him. She wanted him with her, but she knew she would need to retreat from time to time.

* * *

The way things had worked out when Daria and Jane had gone looking for a place was that they had lucked out and found this small converted carriage house. It was actually pretty cool. There was a tiny office on the ground floor, along with a half bath, kitchen, and a common room that was both living and dining area. Upstairs were the two bedrooms, with a bathroom in between. Jane took the north room, which had the best light; Daria the other.

Only now, Trent would be living in there. Was it their bedroom now? He didn't have a lot of stuff, but she made room for him, emptying out half the drawers of her secondhand dresser.

She looked over the little-used office, and decided that it would be hers. Originally it had been a laundry room, but had been converted when the adjoining garage had been built. The washer and dryer now sat in the utility space just outside the door from the kitchen into the garage. One wall of the living area would have to become her library, and she moved some of her personal items into the half bath so it wasn't such a traffic jam getting ready in the mornings. It had a tiny closet, which wasn't quite enough for her clothes, so Trent had insisted that she keep closet space upstairs. She kept only the things she needed for school; her coats, backpack, and so on. They got dressed together in the bedroom, a small intimacy that she dearly loved.

Still, it still felt like a tiny betrayal of what they had thought their future should have been like. The office had a door that opened onto a small deck in the back, so she guiltily thought of it as her own private entrance.

Trent needed a space for himself, she decided. He needed to practice, and he still maintained select students like Stephanie back in Lawndale with the same video link that Trent had used to teach her. He would work on his music and his teaching, and she would study, the distance between them at those times simply a practical necessity.

Slowly, they began to find an equilibrium in their shared space.

* * *

Trent and Daria still slept together in the bedroom, so there was something of a disconcerting surprise when she returned late one Friday evening after a long study group meeting.

Trent and Jane had begun to build her a sleeping loft in her little office.

The remainder of the weekend was occupied with her helping out, even as she ached internally. She didn't mean it this way, but had she begun to push away from him? Was that what he saw?

She couldn't bring herself to confront him about that. For the first time in a long while, she felt the beginnings of a barrier forming between them.

She was a small person, so the little sleeping loft was plenty for her. It even proved possible to sleep two, since Trent had wisely allowed enough clearance to allow himself to sit up on her latex foam mattress without hitting his head on the ceiling. Sex, when not laying down together, was possible only with her on top. Fine with her.

Still…

By the following midweek, it was clear that something was wrong.

He put her coffee down in front of her, and settled in across the little table from her.

"Daria, why haven't you slept with me lately?" His voice was quiet, hesitant.

"We made love an hour ago, in my bed," she responded after a moment.

"That's not what I'm-" he paused. "Wait, our bed is upstairs."

She sat the cup down carefully, her hand trembling.

"Whoa." He reached across the table, holding her hand in both of his. "Did you really think-"

For the first time in a long time, she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Ah, hell. Trent, I'm sorry," she said quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

She sat thinking in her beautiful workspace.

Jane had designed the loft so that it was accessed by a tiered series of working surfaces, so that no space was lost to a ladder. Her desk, keyboard surface, drawers and lounging area were a unified series of planes. Panels that lifted served as covers for storage bins as well as steps to the bed. It was crafted of wane-edged boards, some with bits of bark still attached; areas were delineated by rectangular recesses filled with black river stones. Her boots could be tucked under a ledge that served both as counter as well as seating; it wouldn't do to crawl into bed with them on. The planes drew the eye to the window and the trees beyond, so it was a calming, elegant place.

She loved it now. It was her space, and it was a gift from the two people closest to her. Jane managed to convince her spatial design instructor to accept it as an independent study project, and so she was able to downplay her forbearance. Still, Daria knew the thought that she and Trent had put into it, and it had humbled her. He had been hurt at first, but then he accepted that she needed her own space. He had come to terms with it in quiet grace.

"I never really thanked you and Jane for this," she said softly, deeply ashamed of herself. "I am such an idiot."

He smiled as he drew her into a hug. "That bed is for napping and reading. Jane and I know how you like to read laying down. That's your meditation nest. Our bed is still ours."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 13**_

_**Until We Get It Right?**_

"Are you still on about that loft thing?"

Jane had waved a hand in front of her face.

"Just tending to my angst patch. You know we creative types need that bitterness to balance the sugary goodness that bores us all to death." Daria pushed aside her bowl of soggy cereal, debating weather or not to break down and dig out her stash of toaster pastries. _Such self-destructive habits._

"Here. The sugar's natural, and at least there's fiber." Jane sat down across her, pushing an apple in front of her. She began spooning way too much sugar into her coffee.

"Hypocrite," she half-smiled at the trim, toned artist. "He was looking forward to making me happy, and I let him down again." She took a sip of her now cold coffee. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"He didn't take it that way. He knows you, and he understands that you have to get over that initial 'I don't deserve to be happy' thing you have going." Jane laughed as her friend narrowed her eyes at her, chin still on her hand. "Stop with the stinkeye. You know it's true. It's part of what fuels your creativity."

"Stink eye?" Daria had to smile. "How did you come up with that?"

"_Stinkeye_, one word," Jane laughed. "Lori, that insane girl from Hawaii that keeps those misogynistic jerks in the sculpture lab in their place. "She has these great Pidgen expressions that are really funny."

"She's the one that's about my height? Bring her over some time. She sounds like a blast." Daria got up to warm her coffee. "Pidgen, as in a creole?"

"I dunno what it's called, she said it's how they speak back home when the teachers aren't looking. It comes out sometimes when she's pissed off, and it's hysterical. She takes shit from no one." She held out her cup for Daria to top off. "At the critique on Wednesday, one of the grad students gave her some snotty crap about why she should have done something or other differently and she told him to _'go sit on one air hose._' I think it was the same as _blow it out your ass._"

Daria smiled. "A _Pidgen_ is a work language that naturally evolves when people have to communicate and don't actually have a common language. When it becomes naturalized, like to kids growing up hearing it, it becomes a _creole_. They tend to be really onomatopoeic."

"As in sounding like what they mean?" Jane smiled. She put the cup down and wagged her finger at Daria, tilting her head and adding a mock frown. She was clearly imitating someone. _"Why you no can talk english?"_

Daria narrowly avoided blowing coffee out her nose. "I've got to meet her," she laughed. _It sounds like I'd learn something about expressiveness._

* * *

"Has something changed in your personal life, Ms. Morgendorffer?"

Daria looked up to see Professor Jamison, who was sitting down across from her. She had paused to pull a folder from her leather case. "Oh, not to worry, Daria. It's just that I've detected a change in the texture of your writing. Your characters have begun to take on a slightly different feel. Somewhat…_fleshier_. More emotionally dynamic, I'd say."

"You will warn me if I begin to slide towards sentimental dreck, right?"

The older woman smiled. "Certainly, but you're not in danger of that."

Daria thought about the question and decided that she might learn something that would be worth the mild embarrassment. "My boyfriend moved in with me at the beginning of the term."

"Ah." Carolyn Jameson nodded. "I take it that's something you've wanted, yet you have some small reservations."

"Must I be miserable to be a good writer?"

Professor Jameson laughed. "Always to the point, Ms. Morgendorffer. Angst can drive us, but we have also to live our lives. It's true that many great writers had unhappy lives, but it's not a requirement. You need to _experience_ the extremes of both sorrow and joy in order to create art that fully expresses what it means to be human. Experience, but not necessarily misery. "

Daria said nothing.

"You have many years ahead of you to get it right, Daria. We do it over and over until we get it right. Take joy in the journey; you must maintain your balance in order to walk forward."

Daria sat back in her chair, watching her teacher moving on. _Small reservations? It shows in my work? I must drive Trent nuts sometimes._


	14. Chapter 14

_**Ah, Hell**_

_**Chapter 14**_

_**Experience This**_

Trent pulled in alongside Daria's old Honda and shut the engine off. He yawned, trying to work a kink out of his shoulders. Wednesdays were his long day; he had six students back to back, beginning at the end of his shift on the sales floor at four.

It was nearly eleven, and he was looking forward to raiding the fridge.

What was that laughing about? It sounded like the girls had some friends over.

He pushed the door open, lugging his big Alvarez dreadnought in its case, along with a messenger bag stuffed with sheet music and assorted folders.

"Hi, you must be Trent, right?" came an unfamiliar woman's voice from the kitchen.

He looked up to see a small woman he had thought was Daria. She was about the same height, but it definitely wasn't her. This woman was Eurasian, with brown hair and hazel eyes. Her hair was long and straight, hanging down almost to the middle of her back. She was quite pretty, and she was carrying a small plate and a bottle of beer to the table..

"Hey bro, this is Lori Taira, from Honolulu. She's in a couple of my classes."

"I brought food. I can stay, right?" She flashed an impish grin.

"Lori can sleep in my study," said Daria, placing a plate of pasta and some garlic bread on the table. "She's been teaching me about Hawaiian Pidgen, and we kinda lost track of the time." She stepped over and took his guitar, placing it safely against the wall. "You must be starved. You should try this with your beer first, though."

"Is this Spam?" Trent raised an eyebrow, picking up a rectangular block of rice, topped with a slab of pink, all wrapped in roasted, deep green seaweed. "Cool. Jesse's dad Louie used to make these. He was in the Navy, stationed in Hawaii." He polished it off with gusto, washing it down with beer.

Daria wrinkled her nose. "Jeez, it _is_ weirdly tasty, but you _inhaled_ it."

"Hey, he's a former starving musician," laughed Jane. "He can even eat _my _cooking."

"Aw, c'mon, these are great. What are they called again?"

"Spam musubi_1,"_ smiled Lori. "I would have made poki_2, _but you can't get really fresh ahi tuna here on the east coast. "We used to pack these for the beach to feed the guys after they get out of the water."

"Finish your pasta and then you can have another," smiled Daria. "I don't know how you can stay skinny the way you can eat." She deftly escaped his attempt to pat her on the ass.

"I can't believe you left Hawaii to come to school here," Jane said wistfully, settling down cross-legged on the floor. "I'd love to go there."

"My folks have a pretty big place near Honolulu, but it's kinda strange to non-art people. My dad's studio is in an old sugar plantation town in central Oahu, the island that Honolulu is on. They live in an industrial area, in a place made of welded steel shipping containers. If you guys wanna come, there's room. Even if there isn't, I can weld up a bunk for you."

Jane laughed. "I know you could. You're the best welder in the sculpture program, better than the instructors. Matt says you could probably figure out how to weld a wooden chair together."

"I guess I'm something of a pyromaniac. I should show you thermite welding_3_," Lori grinned. "It's incredibly simple, and it makes enough heat to melt steel train tracks together. It's also really dangerous. In high school I tried to use the process to cast a sculpture and nearly set fire to the garage."

Daria facepalmed. "Please don't show Jane that."

"You're probably right." Lori indicated Jane with a tilt of the head. "That one's probably pupule_4 _enough to try."

"If that means what I think it does, yup," smiled Trent. "So how is it that you like to play with fire so much?"

"The earliest memory I have is my mom holding me as we watched Kilauea erupting at night."

Jane stole a drink from her brother's beer. "Isn't that the volcano in Hawaii? That's been erupting continuously since the 1980's, right?"

"Yeah. I remember watching the glowing lava meeting the ocean. I saw what I remembered as a woman looking at me, floating in the air above the lava as it dropped off. It was probably the glow of the lava reflecting off the steam rising from the ocean, but I saw something that told me that I had nothing to fear from fire; it was a window into creation. All my life, I've watched for a glimpse of that woman again in flames and smoke. When I was little, it was in candles, grills, bonfires. Now, it's in torches and furnaces."

Daria leaned forward, chin on her hand. "_Pele_, the Hawaiian Goddess of the Volcano."

"I learned that later, in school. I don't have any Hawaiian blood; my dad is ethnically Japanese, and my mom's family is Caucasian. It's odd; I was never raised with a deep understanding of the Hawaiian Gods, just a bit more than what a tourist would hear from a Hawaii Volcano National Park ranger. Still, I understood that I was supposed to create."

* * *

The next morning, he was the first one awake. Trent poured the filtered water into the coffeemaker.

_Pancakes would be good. Lori doesn't look like she eats a lot, though._

_ Daria and Lori seem to really like each other. Kinda strange, really; they were like opposites. Daria was always intense, always thinking, stoic, quiet. This Lori was outgoing, full of life, her enthusiasm for it infectious. _

_Ah, there's the superficiality._

_In her own way, Daria did celebrate life. She tasted it and was intensely curious; she now engaged it with what might be called intellectual ferocity. She was like a newborn sometimes, watching the curious flow of fluids along the sides of a glass of wine; smiling with her eyes shut as she experienced her music in a near synesthetic euphoria, fingers flying across the frets and strings of her guitar, plucking an amazing riff out of thin air. She was an emerging master, more and more able to forge work that would gleam like a rare Damascene blade. _

_She was an intense, beautiful woman. She inspired him to work hard, to create. She drove him to excellence, challenging him by simply being who she was. _

_She confessed late last night that she had been afraid that her creativity would suffer when he had moved in with her, that being happier would somehow dampen the force that drove her._

_That didn't happen, she had told him. _

_Instead, their relationship had shown her that in interacting with others, her awareness could expand beyond her own life experience. She found that she didn't envy creativity in others, she was motivated by it. She had always had a facility with language; through him and music she had discovered another expressive tool. _

_That's why she found Lori so interesting. _

"_She's turned a lot of things upside down for me," Daria had murmured as they laid together in the dark last night. "I've always focused on expressiveness with the precise use of words. Her Pidgen has a relatively limited vocabulary, in the conventional sense; instead it relies heavily on context, inflection and mood. But even more important is kinesics; body language. Your facial expression, your posture. The interaction with others goes way beyond just words. Expression, in Pidgen, is like music. Pitch, tone, rhythm, interval, a total awareness of your relationship with others. It's not just an accent, not just idiom…it's everything."_

_He had waited for her to continue as he teased out the meaning of her words. Instead, she had drifted off to sleep. _

_Clink._

He shook himself out of his reverie to find an amused Daria holding out two coffee cups. She touched a cup to the carafe in his hand again.

"You look like how I feel," she smiled softly. "Good thing you start later in the morning today. The rest of us aren't so lucky. Pour."

She fixed a cup for Jane and took it upstairs.

A few minutes later there was muffled yelling and laughter. Apparently Daria had to resort to the squirt bottle to wake Jane up. Trent smirked. _That was nothing compared to the ice cubes Janey used to use on him._

Daria appeared, dressed for the day in her favorite jeans and one of his shirts over a tee. She had rolled up the sleeves, wearing it like a tunic. "Do I need to take you shopping or something? I can't wear your clothes," he smiled, pulling her into a one-armed hug while carrying pancakes to the table.

"It's for your own good," she sassed him. "Keeps guys from asking me out."

"Then you can wear my jeans too," he smiled. "And my shoes."

She paused, processing the mental picture. "Nah. Might turn some guys on."

Jane arrived, half put together. "Missing somebody," she mumbled, holding the squirt bottle. She headed for Daria's office.

_"AAAAAAAAHHH! FUCKING STUPIDHEAD!"_

"Told you Pidgen was pretty expressive, didn't I?" Daria deadpanned.

Moments later, two damp and slightly grumpy women settled at the table.

"How do you take your coffee?" Trent asked.

"Milk, and two lumps for that one," Lori pointed across the table.

"Mi Amiga started it," smirked Jane.

"You said you both had the same eight-thirty AM class, right?" Daria said around a mouthful of pancake. "You wouldn't get up."

"Thank you for breakfast, Trent," Lori smiled as he put coffee and pancakes down in front of her. "You're lucky, Daria," she smiled at her.

"Gets room service too, that one," Jane smirked, expertly dodging Daria's foot under the table.

"You guys take the car to BFAC, or you're going to be late," Daria said, standing up for more coffee. "I'll take the bus to school today."

"Thanks, Daria, that helps a lot," Jane said, looking at the clock. "She's right, Lori, we gotta get moving." They got up and gathered up the dishes.

"Leave it, I have time," Trent shooed them out of the kitchen. "I'll take you to school, Daria."

She waited until Jane and Lori booked. She looked at the clock.

Turning to Trent, she looked him in the eye, leaning up against the counter. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. _Enough time for a quick experiment in kinesics and a limited vocabulary._

* * *

_1 Handy rice-based snacks. Cooked rice, pressed into a block or simply made into a ball. The classic Hawaiian Spam musubi is a Spam slice lashed to rice with seaweed. Don't laugh, it's good beach and picnic food._

_2 Quintessential accompaniment to beer. Small cubes of raw fish, seaweed, sea salt, chili pepper, macadamia nuts (sometimes). Like a bowl of sushi without the rice…?_

_3 An industrial technique that uses a mixture of chemicals that react when ignited to produce intense heat and molten metal. Using this for artistic purposes would be like setting your own farts on fire-interesting, but not too safe. Don't try this._

_4 Crazy. What else would it be?_


End file.
